A Last Goodbye
by LaerwenMithAnarion
Summary: It was too late. He would forever regret it. He lost his chance to tell her how he felt to her face, and so this was to be his last goodbye. ONESHOT. WARNING: FEELS


This is it. I guess I've lost my chance to say it to your face, haven't I?The priest is droning on about your life as if he knew you. I can easily tell that he didn't though. All he talks about is the role you played in the war, and your relationship to the _Chosen One_. He keeps telling us you wouldn't want us to be sad that you're gone, but when have I ever given you what you wanted?

That's right. I can admit it. Though, only to you. I'm sad that you're gone. I've felt empty since I heard the news. I haven't sleep in weeks. When my wife died, it only took me a few days to get back to a normal sleeping schedule. I hope you're happy. You did this to me.

I never told you, though with your brains I wouldn't be surprised if you already knew, but I was in love with you. I know, it's ridiculous right? A past me often referred to it as "how the mighty have fallen", but I see now that I was never one of the mighty. If anything, my love for you kept me from falling too far with the rest of the so called "mighty".

It started near the beginning. Though, I didn't know what was happening at the time. At first I didn't even see you. I would mention you in passing in the letters I wrote to my parents. Mainly to complain about how a muggleborn had such good grades.

However, I saw you plain and clear when you stood up to my father before our second year. You may have noticed, but he was my hero at the time. I often found myself replaying that moment in my head. I tried to reason with myself by saying that it was simply because I was disgusted with how you even dared speak to him. It wasn't. I spoke about you a lot that year. I was frustrated. You were at the forefront of my mind that whole year. I was constantly worried (though I didn't realize that was what I was feeling) that you were the latest victim. I tried to tell myself that I wanted you to be petrified, but when it finally happened my heart almost stopped.

I realized what was wrong with me in our third year. That's right. It happened when you slapped me. At first I was furious. But what angered me even more was that when I thought back on it all I felt was embarrassed and guilty. I felt guilty because I knew that you were wound too tight. The whole schooled had been watching you get increasingly agitated all year. I was a little immature and wanted to see how far a could push. I kept replaying that moment in my head, as well. You had never touched me before. I distinctly remember that being the thought crossing my mind during that split second. I realized, and downplayed it to me having a slight crush, because my cheeks would flush annoyingly every time I imagined your hand on my cheek.

But after all of this, I finally gave up and admitted to myself that it was more than a "slight crush" when I saw you arm in arm with Victor Krum at the Yule Ball. You looked beautiful. And I know it's cliché, but I thought you looked like a goddess. It was so shocking that it took me several minutes to recognize the burning jealousy in my stomach as you smiled up at Krum. I accidentally hurt Pansy's arm when I noticed it, and had to play it off like I was mad that Krum had gone to the ball with a muggleborn. But that was the moment I knew I was in love with you. It was also the moment that I saw that Weasley loved you, as well, and that I wouldn't win.

I've blocked out most of our fifth year in shame, but I know I was downright horrible to you. I was hurt because I could see you falling in love with that oaf, and I realized that even if you didn't love him, you would never love me. And even worse, if you ever came to love me, we couldn't be together. Because, you see, He-who-must-not-be-named had moved into my home that year, and I was completely sure that we would win the war.

Now, as everyone knows, I had a… difficult sixth year. I didn't give you much thought, except to glance at you during meals or in every class we shared. Though, I did notice that you had stayed beautiful to me, even without the makeup and dress from the Yule Ball. I used to tell Myrtle about my troubles whenever I failed to… you know. One day I told her how I felt about you. She liked you, you know. She told me about what you did in our second year. I must admit, I was impressed. Potions had always been my best subject, but to hear that a 12 year old muggleborn was able to successfully brew polyjuice on her first try was amazing.

I complained about it all of the time, but I really loved Hogwarts as much as everyone else. But it was different without you. Sure, some might argue that it was different because of the absence of Dumbledore and the Deatheater professors, but I distinctly felt your absence. I spent a lot of time in the library, and not once did I hear you reprimanding Potter or Weasley for being too loud, or see a bushy mane of curls pass the isle of books I was in.

I dearly wished that I wouldn't see you at all that year. I knew what seeing you would mean. And then it happened. I knew I shouldn't have gone home for the break. But there you were, captured by Snatchers, next to a broken-faced Potter and a panicking Weasley. I couldn't stop myself from looking at you, and I'm so sorry, but my aunt noticed. I can't tell you how many times I have relived that moment in my dreams. I can still remember your screams. I had never seen you so weak and vulnerable, and I would've given anything to make it stop. But a lot of people associate Slytherin with cowardice, you know. And while it's not an actual trait of ours in general, it is a trait of mine. My heart was screaming out to you like Weasley had been, but my fears had bottled up any attempt it made to control my actions. I have to admit that I practically gave Potter my wand when he came to take it from me. Anything to get you out safely.

I had thought that was the worst pain I could feel, until I saw you in the room of requirements. I'm not gunna say that hearing Weasley claim you were his was the worst part. The worst part was when Crabbe set the place on fire. I thought we would both die, and I very nearly wet my pants. I gave up after that. I didn't want to be another war casualty. I'm not gunna lie, I hid.

After the battle was done, and I was huddled in a corner of the Great Hall with my parents, I desperately searched for you. I prayed that you had made it out unscathed. You have no idea how ridiculously overwhelming the sense of relief was when your birds nests of a head rushed out of the crowd to hug the Boy who Lived. Don't tell anyone, but I actually started crying. I told my mother it was because Crabbe had died. It wasn't a complete lie, as I was quite distraught about that as well. But mainly, I was exhausted. I'm sure everyone was.

Several years later, I heard about you and Weasley's engagement. I can't say I was very happy about it, but I couldn't complain because I had already married Astoria. I'm not saying I didn't love Astoria, mind you, because I did love her. It's just that I was so in love with you that it overshadowed my love for her. Whenever it was my turn to put my son, Scorpius, to bed, I would tell him about the adventures you shared with your friends. It's a bit weird, but he idolized Potter and it gave me an opportunity to talk about you again.

You know, I would drop hints every once in a while to get Scorp to befriend your daughter, Rose. I thought that if they became close enough, I would be able to see you sometimes. That worked out didn't it. You looked just as beautiful as you always have at their wedding. Who would've thought of a Weasley – Malfoy wedding, huh? It was totally worth the ever present scowl on Weasleys face!

Our grandchildren attended the funeral, too. That almost sounds as if we had been married! I never thought we would have the same grandchildren. We are so old, aren't we? Well, I guess, despite everything, you lived a pretty good life. I'm happy for you. I miss you. I love you, Hermione Granger.


End file.
